


Winter Solstice

by helena3190



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena3190/pseuds/helena3190
Summary: Mikasa didn't plan on joining the other Scouts to celebrate the Winter Solstice— but she forgot to account for the opportunities that mulled wine, juvenile games, and an absence of formal protocol might present.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Levi
Comments: 33
Kudos: 158





	Winter Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I wrote this while at work on Christmas Eve, and edited the smut from my phone after Christmas dinner with my grandmother, so 1) I might be going to Hell and 2) I hate catching errors _after_ I post, but this will likely have them. 
> 
> Tbh, I would rate this closer to T.
> 
> My playlist for writing this was Killing Me To Love You by Vancouver Sleep Clinic, Eyelids by PVRIS, and Arctic by Sleeping at Last. 
> 
> Much love to you all. Happy holidays, friends!
> 
> ~ Helena

**Winter Solstice**

_By Helena_

* * *

It was difficult to decide who deserved the most blame for the incident. 

Mikasa considered the recent course of events with the same tenacity she reserved for the battlefield. It wasn’t clocking whether to charge the twelve or fifteen-meter titan first, or discerning the best split second opportunity to deploy a thunderspear, though. It was debating whether she should fault Sasha for preparing mulled wine, Leila for shoving the bottle toward her, Hange’s erroneous declaration over breakfast, or Jean— foolish, incapable of being subtle Jean— for introducing the game in the first place.

Yet she knew that miniscule actions could also carry significant consequences. Trembling fingers that slipped over a gear switch could hurl a soldier face-first into a building, or straight into the mouth of a chomping titan. Likewise, it was reasonable to attach blame for the incident onto Connie’s high-pitched laugh, or her choice of footwear. 

Mikasa tugged the collar of her jacket further up her neck. In her rushed escape to the rooftop, she had forgotten her scarf.

A flutter of white powder interrupted her inconclusive debate and she looked upward— the start of a snowstorm. She resigned herself to it; the cold was a far better fate than any gossip fodder or squealing laughter that awaited her inside. 

Regardless of who the blame should be assigned to, it was irrelevant now. What was done was done. She had kissed Captain Levi— and half the Scouts had seen her do it.

Mikasa tried to reach for a nearby snowflake, but it melted upon contact. She sighed.

Her boots. She decided she would blame her boots.

\--

_Earlier that evening_

The cold had a bite to it. Mikasa felt it tear through her throat every time she attempted another breath. If the rush of blood pounding through her veins held heat, it wasn’t enough to keep her warm. She ran, regardless. 

While the others settled into the abandoned cabin that was their temporary post, boasting of plans to “properly celebrate the solstice”, she had no intention to indulge. Armed with a trusted switchblade and the excuse of breaking in her new pair of boots, she took off into the woods. 

It was near dusk when she left. Weak winter light filtered through the bare oaks and deciduous trees. The remainder of yesterday’s snowfall tried to reflect the muted shades of sunset, but the cold seemed to absorb them instead. Mikasa kept half a mind to be on-guard for possible Marley soldiers, but tried to wipe the other half of it clean. 

These days, Eren’s willful arrogance and her innate need to humble him caused more harm than help. She focused on the harsh snap of branches beneath her feet as she ran.

In only a few months, she would be twenty. It was an age she used to look forward to, thanks to one obscure memory— curled onto the lap of her father with a child’s curiosity. _“One day Mikasa, I’ll tell you all about the Ackermans.” “When, papa?” “Hmm. When you’re twenty."_ She picked up her pace, reliant on the genetic power that informed her of what her father never would, and barely dodged the wicked arms of low-lying branches.

An inexplicable tension and irrational amount of time spent together— to spar, to drink tea, to plan strategies, and even to help clean— taking turns to look for too long, trading excuses to touch. It was an irony that was not lost on her. The one most likely to make it out alive was the one she could not let herself become attached to. No matter how hard she pushed herself, Mikasa could not outrun her thoughts of Levi. 

Whether their deaths came soon, an inevitability of The Curse of Ymir, or sooner, the possibility of casualties during an upcoming battle, there was no outcome in which her closest friends remained safe. Mikasa let the searing cold burn through her overworked lungs.

It helped for the most part. Under the twilight sky of cloud-covered stars, she returned to the Scout-occupied cabin. Even from a distance she could hear their merriment; though she couldn’t discern actual statements, the thread of laughter tied all of their words together.

Mikasa didn’t bother to kick off her boots. She brushed the bottoms of them off on a patch of wet grass, braced herself for the onslaught of unwanted attention, and pushed open the door.

The abrupt heat and glaring lights were a haze compared to the crisp outside air. Mikasa quickly scanned her surroundings, guided by introverted instinct and instilled military training habits. Their recently acquired cabin had been transformed for Winter Solstice festivities. She was not sure how, when or who made it all possible, but already a different thought ticked in the back of her mind. She knew with certainty who would insist they promptly clean it all up tomorrow.

Silver tinsel and strands of popcorn stretched across every nook and cranny. Ivory paper cutouts in varying sizes of snowflakes dangled from the high ceiling; an illusion from clear fishing lines made them appear to drift. Thick evergreen garland intertwined with burlap ribbon was draped over the loft railing and top shelf of the large fireplace. An abundance of candles were lit, ensuring the entire ensemble was aglow with sparking firelight.

Mikasa took in a recovery breath, the blazing warmth an instant relief. She noted the undeniable scent of pine and balsam, but something sweeter, too: cinnamon, clove and orange. Rare, but not unfamiliar. She placed it at once as the Braus family recipe for mulled wine. In their younger years, Sasha made it only with apple cider and Jean would help her sneak a flask around. That was before any of them had fought a titan. In recent years, Sasha made it with a generous portion of red wine. One look around the room informed Mikasa that it already had its intended effect. 

The new cadets were the loudest. Excited at the rare chance for fun and inspired by the loose behaviors of those ranked above them— after all, _Commander_ Hange had all but declared the solstice a day of lawlessness during their breakfast. They whooped and hollered from the top floor of the landing with wobbly limbs and cheeks flushed red. If they were sharing real past stories or predicting future ones, Mikasa couldn’t tell.

Her peers occupied the majority of the enlarged living room of the open-floor plan. They sprawled out onto the furniture and lay haphazardly on fur rugs, steam rising from mugs cradled between their hands. Those she would name as friends occupied the space in front of the tan-and-ivory bricked fireplace: Eren, Armin, Sasha, Connie, Leila, and Jean. For some reason, their seating arrangement was a circle in which they faced to look only at one another. She didn’t get the chance to evaluate why before turning toward the last crowd in the adjacent kitchen.

There were only a few officers. Seated around the high-top in cushion-backed barstools, their focus was kept on an intense card game. The wooden countertop was decorated with gambling chips, loose cash, cigarette-laden ash trays, and crystal glassware filled with amber liquor. Mikasa spent an additional second looking at the far left, the head of the table with its emptied seat: an ode to Commander Smith.

It was only a cursory glance, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Of course not— Levi noticed everything. Mikasa caught his subtle shift in her peripheral vision and slid her vision over to the opposite side, onto Levi. He sat half-lounging on the barstool on the far right end of the table, with calm features and fingers clutched around the top of an almost emptied glass of scotch. Everything about his lax posture pointed toward inebriation—except for his eyes. The steel in his eyes were sharp— knowing. Still breathing hard from her run, Mikasa promptly let her vision slide further off and away from him.

Armin noticed her next. “Hey, Mikasa! You’re back.” 

She half-smiled in response. She wondered about the likelihood of slipping past them to retreat into her room; some private time alone before Sasha and Leila came back to their shared space would be a relief. But then the rest of her friends craned their necks to look for her and a chorus of shouts ensued.

“Oh, come on, come on,” Sasha squealed. She pushed herself over half a foot and smacked the ground next to her.

“Yeah, come and play with us,” Jean called out. 

There was a strange eagerness in his tone, followed by a puff of amusement from Eren—neither of which she would understand until later. 

Mikasa didn’t nod her assent, not without knowing the rules of the game. She stalled for the last time and took her time to remove her scarf and jacket. Sweat that she barely noticed before had soaked through her athletic bra, clung to the nape of her neck, and trickled down her cleavage. Used to it, knowing she hosted one more layer in the form of a thin-strapped black camisole, she took off her sweater to use it as a hand towel. 

It was not without caution that she approached her friends. Eren was the only one who shot her a warning look. The rest of them grinned like schoolyard children boasting of an assuredly undeserved innocence. Jean appeared almost wolfish in his excitement, Sasha started to giggle, and Connie and Leila exchanged mischievous grins. Armin was always surprisingly hard to read once drunk— he wore a dazed look that suggested his thoughts wandered further than whatever was positioned in front of him.

Mikasa expected to find playing cards or lewd comics at the center, but instead, there was only an empty bottle. Later, she would berate herself for that naïve dismissal.

The glass bottle was cobalt blue and without a label or lid. Though it lay harmlessly on its side, Mikasa felt an unreasonable twinge of nervousness. She loomed over their circle and stared at it.

“A bottle?” She asked—unimpressed. 

“Yes. A bottle,” Sasha announced easily, too easily “Here, sit.”

Connie snickered. Mikasa decidedly did not sit. “What are the rules?”

“Not many rules,” Leila promised. “You just spin the bottle.”

Mikasa lifted a brow. “And then?”

“Then you’ll see.” Sasha was many things, but not a good showman. She feigned to be aloof, but Mikasa saw her smirk as she sipped more wine.

“It’s a classic game. One we played in my hometown growing up, once we were old enough,” Jean explained. 

Eren seemed to take the opportunity to make a jab, though she didn’t have enough context to understand it. “When you _thought_ you were old enough.” 

Jean simply rolled his eyes. 

Since no one seemed intent to answer her, Mikasa turned toward the one who likely would if she demanded it. “Armin, what happens after it’s spun?”

Though cut shorter than before, it was a habit for him to brush loose strands of blonde hair away from his forehead. Despite an overwhelming protest from the rest of the group, Armin offered her a cheeky smile and explained.

“After you spin the bottle, you wait for it to stop and then kiss whoever it lands on.”

It happened fast after that. Connie laughed sharply, Eren for the first time began to chuckle, and Mikasa’s one foot shuffled forward when she crossed her arms with a clear refusal to participate: “Absolutely not.” 

Her boots were new. She was not used to the shape of them. 

—and in that same split second, Leila pushed the bottle toward Mikasa with a good-humored whine: “Come on Mikasa, just live a little.” 

The tip of Mikasa’s boot hit the neck of the bottle— and the damn thing started to spin. 

For a full second that stretched on too long, the entire group paused from shock. The sudden movement of fast-moving blue glass was hypnotic. Then all of them, except for the one who accidentally spun the bottle, started to shriek and holler. 

“ _Dude!_ ” 

“ _Fuck,_ she actually did it.”

“Walls, this should be _good_.”

Their thrilled exclamations quickly overpowered the noise from above the loft. When it garnered the attention of others, Mikasa was too entranced on spinning blue to notice them. 

She remained frozen— didn’t so much as blink as the spinning rotations of blue glass inevitably slowed. The final seconds of revolution were painfully drawn out. 

The rational part of her was reminded that she spun the bottle on _accident—_ she did _not_ have to _kiss_ anyone. The other part of her, surrounded by the chaotic commotion of her peers and overwhelming aura of their greedy anticipation, convinced her that the bottle _better_ land on… 

There was only a sliver of a second to think of him, to wonder if he was one of the many pairs of curious eyes she felt drilled into her, but then that sliver was gone. 

… well, if it landed on one of the other women, that would be best.

Finally— entirely too soon— the bottle lulled to a complete stop. 

Mikasa exhaled an audible sigh of relief. The blue neck of the glass was pointed into the empty space _between_ the outer thighs of Jean and Eren— it was not pointed _onto_ either of them. For a mere few seconds, Mikasa was flooded with relief. 

But then her fellow comrades— she did not deign to call them friends then— whipped their heads around to look at the designated space behind Jean and Eren. 

Toward the kitchen.

Toward the small group of officers.

Toward the far right end of the table.

Toward – toward…

“ _Captain_ _Levi._ ” Drunk and amused, Sasha actually shrieked.

Blood thrummed like roaring thunder behind Mikasa’s eardrums. Her tightened chest thudded with a rapidly beating heart. Was one supposed to be able to _hear_ their heart rate? Both of those phenomena could be blamed on her recently ended exercise though, probably had been occurring even before the toe of her boot hit the bottle. 

For some reason, she wasn’t able to convince herself it was true. 

After the others confirmed the bottle’s pointed direction, all of them turned upward to face her— most amused and only one disappointed. Meanwhile, the officers in the adjacent room must have already been aware of the game’s premise. They were turned toward her and the bottle to ascertain the cause of additional commotion. 

It gave Mikasa half a moment to be the only one in the room who paid any attention to the bottle’s chosen direction.

Levi was undisturbed. His aloof disposition was a stark contrast to the flurry of excitement that surrounded them. He simply acknowledged her with one brow partially lifted. Still lounged in his chair, one arm hung lazily on the back of his barstool and the other on the table, the glass of liquor trapped under his odd clutch. 

Mikasa watched with a hyper-vigilant sense of awareness, waited for the trademark _“Tch”_ , or other sign of flippant attitude and blatant dismissal. He offered neither. 

Levi tilted his glass half off the table. Lifted the rest of his brow— taunting. Beneath the fringe of ink-black hair, the steel in his eyes sharpened onto her.

She knew that look. She'd seen that look plenty of times before. But it was entirely out of context. That look was ordinarily reserved for challenging her during a spar. 

_Walls_. 

Mikasa felt the start of a blush and stubbornly refused its arrival. She hastily turned back to her friends, to whoever made eye contact with her first. It was Armin’s sympathetic smile. 

“Of course you don’t have to do it, Mikasa.” Sweet, forgiving Armin.

“She would never,” Eren scoffed, and then laughed. He chugged the rest of his mulled wine.

Jean was utterly confident. “Yeah, even Mikasa isn’t brave enough to do _that._ ” 

Despite several meters between them, she heard him— a sharp exhale that signaled Levi’s agreement.

Perhaps it should have shut her down. Instead, it spurred her forward. 

Mikasa did not have the excuse of inebriation, but she blamed it on wounded pride and saving face, on the flood of adrenaline that still coursed through her veins. She crossed the threshold into the adjacent kitchen with her natural gait and a few even strides.

Levi had already turned back toward the card game on the table, certain she wouldn’t approach him. The collective gasp in the room should have alerted him to her nearing arrival— that and a soldier’s surveillance skill-set no amount of alcohol could suffocate— but he remained fixated on the table's items. That alone would have given her the bravery he presumed she lacked.

She came to a halt at the side of him. The height of the barstools positioned them directly at eye-level, but he was intent to ignore her. He lifted his glass to take the last sip— she watched the few remaining drops of amber liquid start to slide downward. 

Mikasa intercepted it.

The silver in their eyes finally met— and clashed. Mikasa wrapped her fingers firmly around his peculiar grip, and then promptly directed him to discard the tumbler onto the table. It wobbled and clattered from the forced drop, but she tightened her hold and pushed down harder. The glassware came to a hard stop.

Levi brazenly watched her after that. She forgot to remove her hand when she stepped forward and situated herself into a careful alignment— between the narrow space of his legs but not close enough to touch them. 

The resurgence of rushing blood, Levi’s blatant gaze, and the reality of what she was about to do— she was a few seconds shy of _kissing_ Levi _—_ roughly caught up to her. Her knees almost wobbled and she unintentionally knocked into him. 

Before the last ounce of her courage faded, she lifted her free hand and anchored it onto his shoulder— then Mikasa leaned forward to kiss him.

It shouldn’t have been possible to forget an entire squadron watched them, but she did. The only thing that mattered was that _Levi_ watched her, but that became too much— too real. Her lids shuttered to a close. 

Since she was here, since it was happening, she knew she ought to make the most of it. That she would not be given a second chance to do this. Mikasa caught his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down without real effort—it was more of an excuse to briefly run the tip of her tongue nearest she could to the inside of his mouth.

To the rest of the room, it must have looked like Levi remained motionless. She was too close to be as easily fooled. The muscles beneath his shoulder relaxed under her hold, the index finger on his tumbler shifted from the chilled glass to her warm skin, and he stilled her trembling thigh with pressure from his own.

Levi did not kiss her back—but he took a breath that parted his lips. 

He tasted like scotch, and spearmint, and something else—something distinctively _Levi._ She wanted more— _more_ of that taste, and _more_ time to explore him. 

Time was not something she had. _More_ was not something they were allowed. 

Mikasa started to withdraw. First, she pulled back with only a slow disengagement from his immobile lips. Then, with reluctance, she lifted both of her hands off of him. Lastly, Mikasa took several immediate steps backwards. 

The last of her courage was summarily spent—when she opened her eyes, she couldn’t bear to look at him. Instead she immediately turned toward her circle of friends. 

She didn’t need to speak the words for them to hear it through her narrowed lavender-dusted eyes. _I’m not brave enough for what, exactly?_

The uproar clamored beyond their circumference and bounced throughout the entire room. Her slight boost of confidence was short-lived: she was mortified to hear even Commander Hange’s chuckle— earnest and joyous. 

Mikasa had not planned to indulge in the Winter Solstice festivities. She had not planned to consume any, let alone an abundance, of the Braus family specialty of mulled wine. But she had not planned on kissing Levi, either. 

To Hell with her plans. Mikasa went to the large pot on the stove and helped herself to a full serving of spiced wine.

\--

_Present_

Her self-imposed solitude on the rooftop was interrupted. She heard the creak of wood and shuffled shingles behind her, but didn’t turn. Mikasa knew that it would be either Sasha or Armin; whichever one of them felt more obligated to check on her. 

Instead, the blithe voice that rang out unmistakably belonged to Levi. “This an attempt to secure privacy, or have you exiled yourself— in search of penance?” 

Usually, his humored expressions were limited to shorter sentiments. Mikasa wondered if it was the liquor that enabled his sarcasm to paint with larger brush strokes. 

“Both, I suppose.” 

She glanced up to him only after he came to stand next to her. If Levi was drunk, it wasn’t possible to tell. He looked still, composed. That bothered her. She wanted— needed— him to be rattled, too. 

“And you? Are you here to repent?” She heard the slight edge in her tone, but distracted herself with sipping on mulled wine. 

“Not sure that I sinned.” Levi remained unaffected. 

She tried harder. “You kissed a soldier beneath your rank.” 

He was not rattled. If anything, she sensed amusement. “No, brat. You kissed an officer above yours.” 

Mikasa pursed her lips. “Well, Commander Hange did start the day saying formal protocols would be suspended for the duration of the holiday.” 

From her peripheral, she could see his singularly lifted brow. But he said nothing else. 

The temperature seemed to drop by the moment. Howling winds picked up with a rampant speed. Her mug of previously piping hot mulled wine was soon lukewarm, then cold. She chugged the rest of it, hoped it would resurrect her courage if not offer her warmth. Too stubborn to leave, especially with him silently standing to the side of her, Mikasa forfeited her empty mug and wrapped both arms around her bent knees. She shivered regardless. 

“ _Tch_.” Levi seemed only mildly annoyed as he untucked his scarf, partially folded it and then tossed it squarely into her lap. In the same continuum of movement, he took a seat beside her. 

Mikasa’s eyes widened. She clutched the navy fabric— thick wool, warm from its previous placement. She almost refused it, started to shake her head or ask him if he was certain. But then she remembered who had given it to her. Levi wasn’t the type to second guess his actions, let alone choose politeness over pragmatism. 

“Thank you,” she said instead. 

She wrapped his scarf around her neck and cradled her chilled fingers into the warm material at the dip in her chest. It was impossible not to notice that he watched her do it. He was probably surprised that she accepted it, too. 

“Hn.” Perhaps liquor provided him additional syllables. His response was stern, but complete. “You’re welcome.”

Mikasa knew her flaws, and she knew that Levi knew them, too: brash, impulsive and insubordinate. The alcohol that coursed through her, almost tangible pressure of his watchful gaze, and vivid memory of his taste— spearmint and hard liquor— all converged to bring her faults to the forefront. 

She spared him a brief glance. He was stone-faced, but still watching her— _waiting?_ Mikasa looked to the faint flurries of descending snow. 

“You know what I don’t understand,” she began, calm to the point of sounding careless. “In weaker moments, on needier nights, I’ve thought about you— gotten off, thinking about you. So why is it, that a chaste kiss during a juvenile game, feels more— feels so...”

Mikasa didn’t bother to try and finish the sentiment. 

If he found her explicit admission surprising, inappropriate, or a combination of the two, none of it showed. Levi remained observant but impassive. 

“Wrong?” He offered. 

Mikasa stared at the drifting snowflakes. Her lips curved into a slight frown. 

“Intimate,” she finished soundly. 

He was silent. Mikasa wasn’t sure that she expected anything besides silence except for scorn, so she remained cold but otherwise composed. 

Time dragged on with a contented quietness, surprisingly devoid of embarrassment or fragile tension. She credited her own resoluteness more than the unreliable effects of alcohol. 

The snow started to pile onto the few existing evergreen trees. Mikasa watched it as if it were a magician performing a show—there had been no harsh winters or snowfall on Paradis Island.

When Levi finally spoke, it was barely a question. “You wouldn’t have gone through with it if the bottle landed on any of the others.” 

She didn’t have to think before she answered. She had already come to the same conclusion. 

“No.” 

He turned to her again. Regardless of the frigid winds, she felt his eyes boring into her with impossible heat. 

“Then why kiss me?” 

Mikasa didn’t plan for a conversation that went down this path. Without the magnetic pull of an impulse or aftermath of adrenaline, she didn’t have the ability to summon the right words— or at least the honest ones. 

“I don’t know,” she said without a shrug. Both of them knew it wasn’t true. 

“You don’t know.” Typical Levi— disparaging and rude. 

“No.” She forced her quivering lips not to slip into a smile. Frustrating him had always been particularly enjoyable.

Mikasa turned some— it was only a few inches, but they were deliberate ones. She sat in a position that faced more toward him than the view from the roof. 

“Why did you come up here looking for me?” Mikasa challenged next. 

That sharpened glint of steel in his serious gray eyes came back with full force. His terse response was a pitch toward playfulness. “I don’t know.” 

She hid the possibility of her smile with a quiet scoff. “You don’t know?” 

Mikasa wondered how much of the game he would play, for how long he would entertain their banter. Any of their previous exchanges— borderline flirtation or lingering touches— were always cut short by him and him alone. Moments that ended too soon despite having no real start. 

Prior experience told her that he was most likely about to stand up and walk away. 

Levi turned though, angling himself toward her. Unlike her bent knees, he kept his legs lazily extended. Their limbs were almost close enough to touch. 

“Shitty-glasses actually said all formal protocols would be suspended for the night?”

It was posed like a question, but the clarification he sought was for something else entirely; she heard it in the predatory search of his hunting tone. 

Besides, Mikasa _knew_ that he heard Commander Hange’s announcement. She had been watching him prepare two cups of tea while the troops whooped and hollered over it. One of those cups had been handed off to her right afterwards. 

No, Levi wasn’t asking if Hange actually lifted the protocols. He was asking if Mikasa wanted him to. 

She let her boots slip a little further down the roof, relaxing her muscles: it knocked their legs together. “Yes. That’s what they said.”

Levi hummed— a dark timbre, the admittance of thoughtfulness. 

It was another behavior Mikasa began to catalogue as one prone to him once inebriated, but then he reached toward her. He looked relieved— no erroneous excuse, no false pretense— and slowly enveloped her closest ankle with a tentative grip. His thumb dipped underneath the edge of her pants to claim skin.

In another life, one without the constant threats of war and familiar backdrop of bloodshed, Mikasa thought she might be the sort of woman who was shy— not passive, but patient. She would tread carefully with partners, go slowly before sex. 

But in this life she buried friends. 

Mikasa slid her one leg, the one he led at her ankle, further down the roof. It guided his hand to travel upward. Levi readjusted at once, battle-hardened fingers clutched around the back of her calf. He hadn’t been out here for as long— the heat from his touch seared her. 

For the first time, Mikasa heard how her composure began to slip. “Why— have something in mind?” 

She had been torn on whether to track his hand or his eyes when she spoke. She was grateful then that her focus was dedicated to the latter. A flash of hot mercury pooled into his silver irises.

“I do.”

Levi slid his hand up the back of her calf muscle and landed it squarely beneath her knee. It was strange to consider it a caress, but that’s what it felt like when he kneaded carefully. 

Then he flipped his hold over to the top of her leg. They both watched when his lithe fingers spread out onto the bottom of her thigh. 

“Sounds like you do, too,” he added— low and even. 

A shiver that had nothing to do with the weather raced down Mikasa’s spine. She continued to watch him when he trailed his hand further up her thigh. In that moment, Mikasa was distinctly aware of the limits to imagination. This was far better. 

She answered, quiet and breathy. “Maybe.” 

“Then tell me.” 

Levi dragged his thumb deeper into the hard muscle of her outer thigh. Shortly after, she realized it had been a courteous preamble: the rest of his fingers followed suit with a more deliberate massage along the inside of her thigh. Her legs hosted plenty of strength—but still, she trembled. 

“Tell you?” she repeated, almost startled. 

Electricity from his roaming touch sparked through her. Mikasa loosened her leg further and the bend of her knee turned horizontal instead of vertical. It served only to widen the space that Levi could traverse, should he want to— should _she_ want him to. 

Mikasa had wanted him for far too long now. 

“You heard me.” Blithe as ordinary in tone, but that was it. The rest was new, unfamiliar— the molten silver in his honest gaze, the way his thumb curved inward to trace over her pelvic bone, the warmth of his touch when the rest of his hand fully enveloped the apex of her thigh. 

Levi continued— quiet, but with authority. “Tell me what you think about me doing when you fuck yourself.” 

Mikasa nearly whined simply from his words. She pushed forward, one arm needed to remain propped up, but the other free to reach for him. She took hold of his shoulder with unnecessary strength. Looked him dead in the eyes with a grimace. 

“I swear on the Walls, if you’re just drunk, or messing with me, I will—”

She was interrupted. Levi stole the last of her words, and then her breath. He kissed her with an unearned confidence— an impossible sense of familiarity.

Like he had wanted her for far too long now, too. 

Mikasa didn’t wait to respond. Her hand on his shoulder fell to the center of his chest— felt the proof of mutualism in the violent beating of his heart— and slanted her mouth to fall into sync with him. 

It was not the sudden start of a new kiss, but the delayed end of her earlier one. When Mikasa silently moaned an appreciative murmur, Levi leveraged her parted lips with the expectant tip of his tongue. She pulled him in closer.

The time she wanted earlier— the _more_ she needed— now she had it.

Hard liquor.

Spearmint.

And Levi— she tasted Levi. 

He untangled the scarf he had given to her only moments before and roughly discarded it. In its place, he wrapped one calloused hand fully around her throat. Mikasa keened— so he squeezed harder. 

She was not sure when her bent knee fell completely open and into his lap, but Levi made the most of the angle she afforded him. She hated nothing more in that moment than the thickness of fabric meant to keep one warm in winter. The workings of his hand was enough to keep her warm— and wet. 

Mikasa started to protest when Levi slid his tongue out from its exploration in her mouth, but he tilted her neck back and soon enough she understood. Mikasa tried to catch her breath—lungs burning for an entirely different reason— while Levi trailed welt-worthy kisses down the column of her throat. 

“The Winter Solstice,” Levi said, hot breath released into the crook of her neck. “Shortest day of the year.” 

“Yes.” Mikasa pulled herself further into him. She held onto the band of his waistline for a few short seconds, and then searched instead for his arousal. She slid her palm over him: felt him hard and pulled taut against the thick fabric of his own pants. “That is the premise of the holiday.” 

The hum she noticed from him earlier sounded off again— this time more primal. Levi deftly unbuttoned and unzipped her pants. She inhaled, and then forgot to exhale. He traced the pads of his fingertips over— and then under— her last layer. 

“Then we don’t have much time,” he said, teeth grazed over her pulse point. “Tell me how you want to come.” 

Mikasa faltered with her own grip, then quickly reclaimed it. He was hard, hot and hard as iron, and she realized only then how desperately she’d wanted him to brand her. 

She didn’t mean to say it aloud. Heady with overstimulation and the need for release, the wanton words tumbled off her tongue. Half wistful, half certain— the sound of an epiphany, an important revelation. “You’re going to make me come?” 

Levi smirked at the tail-end of an open-mouthed kiss. He pulled himself upwards, withdrew from her neck completely to get a full look at the desire stamped visibly onto her expression: glazed eyes, fluttering lids, and parted lips. Honest and soft and feminine in ways he never had the chance to see in her. 

“Yes.” His confidence was deadly. “I’m going to make you come.” 

She nearly whimpered. Mikasa found the buckle of his pants and began to unclasp it. She recalled several choice daydreams— or more accurately, nighttime fantasies— but none of them involved frigid temperatures or fucking on a rooftop.

Truth certainly was stranger than fiction.

On occasion, _reality_ was even better than imagination. 

\--

The first light of dawn signaled in the east. Mikasa noticed it first— the dread of it had led to her watching for it. There was no sun or warmth yet, only the gradual withdrawal of twilight. She studied the indigo and dark lavender with disdain. 

Levi noticed it soon after. 

Their one night to shirk responsibilities and loosen the boundaries— it would be over with the sunrise. 

Levi began to disentangle himself. She tracked every movement of it, keenly aware that even the withdrawal of his touch was better than the lack of it she should expect moving forward. 

He pulled his legs out from their shared space together— an immediate loss of body heat. Levi gradually withdrew his one hand from her abdomen, kept warm beneath several layers, and then removed the other from its tucked position beneath his scarf on the nape of her neck. 

And that was that. Mikasa reluctantly lifted her cheek off from his chest and moved completely away from him. She didn’t watch when he stood up. 

Without the emphasis of adrenaline or supportive measure of alcohol, she assumed he would return inside without another word. She pushed upward to sit and stretched out her legs, staring at her boots instead of him. 

The boots. Could she really fault them? 

No. It had been her fault— maybe Levi's, too— and she knew it.

Mikasa thought of Jean’s words from last night. He had been wrong, but not entirely. She was brave enough to kiss Levi in front of a crowd, and brave enough to fuck Levi outside on a rooftop— but she was not brave enough to look at him the morning after. 

“Oi, Mikasa.” 

He rarely used her first name. She turned sharply to face him, brows furrowed. 

Levi was not a tall man, yet he always seemed it. He towered over her, a surprisingly neutral expression. For him, it might have been the equivalent of gentle. 

She blinked, tired and owlish— or if she was honest, sad. Even though he had grabbed her attention, she found it stolen by the approach of dawn. Mikasa barely withheld the frown at the softer blues that stretched above the horizon. 

Levi followed her line of sight, then acknowledged it with some sort of unamused grunt. 

She observed him as more methodical than sentimental when he kneeled back down in front of her. Mikasa knew that Levi could hold a balanced position just fine, but he placed a hand over her thigh regardless. Their relations throughout the night abruptly seemed cruel— any innocuous touch in the future would hint at bliss but deliver none of it. 

Levi leaned forward. He almost pressed his cold, chapped lips onto hers— instead, they only hovered. 

“Stay alive, brat.” His warm breath brushed onto her lips. “Then we’ll see.” 

He stood as soon as he finished speaking. Tendrils of vibrant pinks and purples began to curl into the skyline, but Mikasa paid them no attention. The faint smirk on his softened features was mesmerizing. 

Then Levi turned. He was leaving. 

Mikasa sought for something—anything— to do or say. To have one more exchange, one more moment that could actually begin before it ended. Habit brought her hands to grasp at her neckline, and navy wool provided a solution. 

“Levi, wait."

He turned at once, both hands tucked into his front pockets. There was no admonishment for calling out to him by first name only. 

Mikasa started to unravel his wool scarf from her neck. “Here. This is yours.” 

“No,” he said, a slight shake of the head. 

Mikasa paused, both hands clutched around the partially removed scarf. 

In the last of the evening darkness, he almost hid half a smile beneath his smirk. But she saw it. 

“Keep it,” he said. 

Then Levi jumped from the rooftop and was gone. 

Mikasa smiled too, slow and appreciative as she rewound his scarf around her. It provided more than warmth; it was a memento. 

She looked again toward the east. This time, Mikasa welcomed the sun’s arrival. Though it marked the end to the Winter Solstice, it came with an infallible promise.

A new day— longer days, warmer days— would begin.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you for reading! xo
> 
> I actually haven't logged on in a few weeks, but ordinarily, come hang out with me on tumblr (: _https://helena-thessaloniki.tumblr.com/_


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